A Last Goodbye and a Final Hello
by KaiahAurora
Summary: It has been three years since Sherlock's death, and John isn't coping. He sends one last message to his friend before leaving this world, but then he gets a reply that he never hoped to see. Post-Reichenbach one-shot, Sherlock's return, light Johnlock slash, and rated for dark themes.


This is a post-Reichenbach Sherlock-returns fic. It was a lot more depressing than I thought it would be, and has a weird blend of angst, fluff, and h/c. Light Johnlock slash.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, and if it was, I wouldn't be sitting around writing fanfics about it.

Warning: Mentions of suicide and dark themes

* * *

**Hey, Sherlock. It's been six months since I last texted you, and just wanted to say that I know you're not coming back. So I'm coming to you. JW**

John looked at his phone sadly as he sent the text. It had been three years, almost to the day, since Sherlock Holmes, his best friend, had fallen. He had tried, God knew he had tried to keep on going. But he just couldn't do it. Sherlock had been his rock, his anchor in the stormy sea that had been his life after the war. Now, there was nothing left he could do.

**John Watson. Stop it now, I will not allow you to be harmed after I've tried so hard to keep you safe. SH**

John jumped slightly as he got the text. No one had been talking to him recently, by his own choice of course. Was it a wrong number? His heart stopped as he read the words.

**What the hell? Who is this? JW**

**Don't you die, John. You're going to stay right where you are, and you are going to be safe. Please, John. I'm not dead. SH**

No. No, no, no. This was wrong. Some idiot who had found Sherlock's phone, and was trying to stall him long enough to burst in and stop him. He had to be quick.

**What the hell are you playing at? Is this Mycroft? JW**

**It's me, John. It's Sherlock. Just promise me you'll wait a little longer and I will come back to you. SH**

John shook his head. "Just ignore them," he told himself firmly.

**What kind of sick joke is this? JW**

**John. Tell me where you are. SH**

**Not until you tell me what's going on! JW**

**I'm not dead. I've been destroying Moriarty's web to keep you safe. If I had told you earlier you would have died. I'm sorry. SH**

**I don't believe you. JW**

**I understand. I will come back soon, John, just promise me you won't hurt yourself. SH**

"Of course I won't hurt myself," John said tiredly. "I've just got my bloody gun pointed at my head."

**I'm at the flat. I have my gun, so don't try anything. JW**

**Put it away, John. I'm coming home. Just don't shoot me, alright? SH**

"I'll be deciding who gets shot, you git," John spat at his phone. "Keep it together, Watson."

**I was never planning on shooting you, but I'm not putting the gun away. JW**

**Please, John. I'll be there soon, keep the door unlocked and put the gun away. Or perhaps you think I'm someone who's out to get you. I'm not. I swear it's me John, though I would understand if you couldn't believe me. SH**

**The door's unlocked but I'm still not putting the gun away. I don't care if someone's out to get me. JW**

**Yes, thank you. I'm so sorry, John. I truly am. Open the door. SH**

No, this couldn't happen. Sherlock was dead. Why the hell had he been taken in so easily? John started to panic, wondering if he should just shoot now and save himself the pain.

**No. JW**

**Fine. I'm coming in. SH**

He would wait, just a few more moments. Then he could shoot as soon as whomever it was walked in the door. It would serve them right. "Listen to yourself, Watson," he murmured softly. "You really need to stop this."

**I'll be waiting. JW**

Sherlock went up to the flat, knocking on John's door. His heart pounded, hoping John was alright but of course he wasn't alright, how could he be after what Sherlock had put him through? He hoped that he would be able to fix this. He needed to fix it.

"Come in," John called out in a hollow voice. His gun was heavy in his hand, ready to be used if it was anyone other than his detective.

"John?" Sherlock called softly, coming inside. His eyes instantly found his doctor and he examined John closely. He was thinner, with bags under his eyes. He rarely slept. His hand was trembling slightly and he was leaning on one side more than the other. His limp was back. "John, I'm so sorry."

John stared at Sherlock, still not believing. "Why?" he asked quietly.

"I had to. If I didn't die, they would have killed you. If I hadn't left to destroy what was left, they would have done worse to you." Sherlock murmured sadly.

"But why didn't you tell me?"

"They would have found out. I'm so sorry, John. I understand if you would never forgive me for this. Or believe me." Sherlock sighed, looking down shamefully. All he had wanted was to make everything alright.

John pushed himself up and took a shaky step forwards. He paused, then started up with renewed energy. Dropping his gun on the sofa on the way past, he launched himself at Sherlock, wrapping his arms tightly around him. Sherlock nearly fell back at the sudden embrace. He froze, then gently wrapped his arms around John, holding him close. "John," he whispered, kissing his forehead.

John whimpered slightly and buried his face in Sherlock's chest. Tears spilled down the detective's face as he held his blogger. "I've missed you so much, John" Sherlock said brokenly. John didn't reply, but held on tighter, savouring the moment that he hoped would never end.

"I won't leave you again, John. I swear." Sherlock promised, stroking John's hair.

John sobbed as the tears he had been holding back for six months finally broke free. "Sherlock," he gasped, starting to tremble from exhaustion and fear, fear that this wasn't real, and soon Sherlock would leave him alone again.

"Come along, you should lie down for a while, John." Sherlock said, trying to regain some of his old chipper attitude. All of that stopped when he took another look at his blogger's face. "I'll stay by your side." Sherlock promised softly, moving John carefully towards his bedroom so that he could rest.

"No," John said, suddenly pushing himself away. "I'm fine. What about you? Are you alright? Are you hurt?" The words came tumbling out. He had to know. He had to know that it was okay.

"I'm alright," Sherlock replied slowly, "Just a few injuries. They're scarred over by now. But I'm not hurt. Are you sure you're alright, John?"

John sighed and hung his head, passing a hand over his eyes. "I'm not, but I will be, now," he said quietly.

Sherlock frowned and stepped closer to John, putting his hand on his shoulder. "What can I do, John?" he asked softly.

"Just..." he bit his lip. "Just stay here."

He nodded slowly, brushing John's hair back carefully. "I will never leave again. I promise." he whispered solemnly.

John sniffled and gave Sherlock a half-smile. "You said something about lying down?"

"Do you want to go to your bed? I could make you some tea if you'd like, or just sit with you." Sherlock said quickly, grateful to see John smiling again after three long years.

"Stay with me, please," John said, face flushing slightly in embarrassment.

Sherlock nodded and wrapped his arm around John's waist, leading him carefully to the bedroom. "Here you are. You can rest here." he said softly.

"Uh-huh," the doctor said tiredly, content just to stare at the face he hadn't seen for far too long.

"Do you want to talk?" Sherlock asked lightly, sitting down on the edge of the bed and patting the side to invite John to lie next to him.

John instantly complied, never taking his eyes off of the detective. "There's not much to talk about," he said slowly.

"It _has_ been three years," Sherlock murmured, brushing his hand soothingly down John's side.

"Yeah, I noticed." John sighed. "I quit my job at Bart's and started taking cases. Not anything like you could've done, but I got better." He paused. "I'm guessing Mycroft knew you were alive?"

Sherlock frowned. "Not at first. After a few months, I needed his assistance. He helped to keep them away from you." he answered.

"And did he tell you anything about what went on here?" John asked hesitantly.

"No, why?" Sherlock asked softly.

"Just wondering," John sighed. "Where did you go, anyways?"

"All over the United Kingdom and a few other countries," Sherlock replied, "What else happened when I was gone, John?"

"Bad things," John smiled humorlessly. "I tried to convince the world that you weren't a fake. I know that a few followers on my blog believed me, but I had a lot of trouble even with the police force. Lestrade believed you were real, but no one else except Molly and Mrs. Hudson."

Sherlock sighed shakily. "John... I should have known. I'm sorry. I do have enough proof to prove my innocence now, but I don't think you should see it. But thank you, John."

"That's what friends do," the doctor said quietly, looking down.

"You certainly are incredible, John." Sherlock whispered, leaning down to kiss John's cheek.

John leaned in to the touch, sighing. It had been too long. "Not half as incredible as some detectives."

Sherlock smiled warmly, leaning over John and keeping his eyes fixed on him. "Not without you." he murmured.

"Never without me." A single tear fell from John's eye, despite his efforts to keep himself under control.

He lay down carefully besides John, wrapping his arm around him as he did so. "I love you, John." Sherlock breathed quietly.

"I love you, too," John choked out. "God, Sherlock, you have no idea how much I've wanted to say that to you."

Sherlock kissed the back of John's neck tenderly, trying to hold back tears. "I know," he whispered gently, "it's going to be okay now, John. I'm going to take care of you."

"I know you will," John gave Sherlock a watery smile.

Sherlock returned to grin, moving his arm up to gingerly brush the warm tears away from John's eyes. "Shh... John, just rest. I'm going to be right here with you when you wake," he soothed.

"I'm not sure I want to close my eyes," John frowned, sounding way too fragile. "How will I know you're still there?"

"I'll hold you close, then, so that you'll know I'm still with you," Sherlock replied softly.

John laughed a little, but wasted no time in wrapping his arms around Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled happily, brushing his lips over John's forehead. "I love you so much, John," he whispered

"I love you, too," John said and, for the first time in three years, he finally let himself relax. Everything would be okay. He knew it. Sherlock sighed happily, glad to finally have his John back again, safe and unharmed. He closed his eyes slowly, feeling peaceful.

John had known as soon as he closed his eyes that his sleep would not be peaceful. The demons and shadows that had been haunting him for three years and longer were not going to go away now that Sherlock was back. But he had never guessed that they would show him the thing he feared the most: that Sherlock wasn't real. In his dream, Moriarty had been the one to survive the fall, and had created an image of Sherlock returning just to kill John a little more. In his mind, John screamed.

Sherlock opened his eyes immediately when he felt John tremble. He was whimpering in his sleep. "John?" he whispered, rubbing his blogger's arm soothingly in attempt to coax him out of the nightmare.

John bolted upright with a small cry, looking around with panicked eyes until his gaze landed on Sherlock. His ragged breathing stopped, and he just stared, trying to reassure himself that, for once, the ghost he saw was a real one. Sherlock hugged John tightly.

"It's alright John, I'm here. You're safe, it's okay, shhh..." Sherlock whispered repeatedly, gently rocking John in his arms, "It was only a dream."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock!" John gasped, clutching at the detective. "I'm so sorry for everything."

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock frowned in concern, but didn't let go of John.

"I'm sorry that you had to do all of that. I'm sorry you had to face Moriarty alone. I'm sorry I wasn't there with you. I'm sorry that you had to live on your own for three years. And I'm sorry that you had to die."

Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders and looked hard into his eyes. His voice was firm, even though tears threatened to spill down his cheeks. "Listen to me, John Watson. You were not to blame for any of this. You had no control over what happened. But I'm back now, and I swear to you that I will never leave again. Everything will be okay, John."

John looked back at Sherlock, and for the first time in three years, he honestly believed that it would be.


End file.
